


Somebody Else

by deanlovescastielswormstache



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, First Kiss, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlovescastielswormstache/pseuds/deanlovescastielswormstache
Summary: Enjolras clenched his fists, curling his fingers tightly into themselves. This was for two important reasons. Firstly, it hid how badly his hands were shaking when he saw Grantaire being chatted up at the bar, his soft curls reflecting in the dim reddish mood lighting of the bar, his face so soft and warm. Secondly, when his hands were curled like this, it was easier to imagine punching that admittedly gorgeous man that was talking to him. He forced himself to take a couple of breaths, but his eyes remained fixed on the two of them, friendly, laughing. He felt an emptiness inside as he tried to think of the last time that he saw Grantaire that carefree and happy in his presence. No instance came to mind.





	Somebody Else

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt - Enjoltaire + kiss out of jealousy. Title from the song Somebody Else by the 1975. It is a very apt description of what happens in this fic.

Enjolras clenched his fists, curling his fingers tightly into themselves. This was for two important reasons. Firstly, it hid how badly his hands were shaking when he saw Grantaire being chatted up at the bar, his soft curls reflecting in the dim reddish mood lighting of the bar, his face so soft and warm. Secondly, when his hands were curled like this, it was easier to imagine punching that admittedly gorgeous man that was talking to him. He forced himself to take a couple of breaths, but his eyes remained fixed on the two of them, friendly, laughing. He felt an emptiness inside as he tried to think of the last time that he saw Grantaire that carefree and happy in his presence. No instance came to mind.

 

Courfeyrac plopped himself down next to him, sliding a drink over to him in an exaggerated fashion, but Enjolras only paid him half a mind. He was trying to decide whether or not he should do anything about the situation that was unfolding in front of his eyes. The strangers lifted his hand to buy Grantaire a drink, and Grantaire laughed up at him, flashing him smiling eyes. Enjolras grabbed his drink and took a swig.

 

“Easy there, cowboy. That’s your third tonight.” Courfeyrac studied him, his hazel eyes focusing on him with perturbing insight. Enjolras had a feeling that Courfeyrac was reading Enjolras’ tension a little too well for comfort. “What’s gotten into you? You hate drinking.”

 

Enjolras shrugged, and brought the glass to his lips once more to take a more measured sip of whatever concoction Courfeyrac was trying to appease him with. He winced a little as it burned down his throat, but if he drank it, it might be easier to handle the idea of Grantaire going home with a man who didn’t even know him. Who didn’t even know how passionate he was, or how side splittingly hilarious when he put his mind to it. “School. It’s always stressful. Besides, you are always the one telling my to loosen up and live a little. So I’m taking your advice.”

 

Courfeyrac gave him a look that let him know that Enjolras wasn’t convincing him in the slightest, but that he was going to let it slide. “If you’re trying to loosen up a little, does that mean that you are finally going to be making an appearance with me on the dance floor?” Courfeyrac’s right dimple was showing, and his eyebrow arched with curiosity. Enjolras knew he was seeing how far he could push Enjolras - how much Enjolras was willing to do to not talk about what was really bothering him.

 

“If you buy me a couple more drinks, there’s no promise of what I may do,” Enjolras said, draining his glass. Grantaire’s stranger had put an arm around his shoulder, effectively turning Grantaire away from him. Enjolras couldn’t read Grantaire’s face, but he hoped that the stranger wasn’t pushing Grantaire without consent. Unfortunately, from what Enjolras could tell, Grantaire’s body language was relaxed and confident. He seemed to be enjoying the attention.

 

Enjolras tore his eyes from his back and focused again on Courfeyrac, who was surprisingly silent. He quirked his brow once more. “I think I’m going to need another drink too,” he said, more to himself than to Enjolras, and headed off into the crowd to acquire them more alcohol. Enjolras studied the ice melting in his glass. He could already feel the effects of the first three glass relaxing him pleasantly. He didn’t drink often because he liked his mind to be clear, but sometimes it was nice to just let go and let his mind have a break. Especially since his mind had become increasingly unfocused lately, infuriatingly distracted by Grantaire and his presence. It was really the littlest things that were bothering him. Grantaire’s inability to take things seriously, and Enjolras’ desire to have a real conversation with him without Grantaire’s snark and sarcasm building a fortress around himself. His sketches that he left littered all over the Musain, Enjolras conspicuously absent in most of them. His sweatshirt that he had accidentally left at Enjolras’ once when all of the Amis were there and his inability to come pick it up, and so it lived there, draped over the couch, reminding Enjolras of all the things that he wanted and yet couldn’t have.

 

Enjolras was disrupted from his reverie by the clunk of his next drink on the table. Courfeyrac sat next to him, putting his own arm over Enjolras’ shoulders. Normally Enjolras wasn’t comfortable with uninvited physical contact like that in public, but he didn’t find it minded too much at the moment. It made him feel less alone, and it somewhat mirrored Grantaire’s situation. He looked up to check on Grantaire, and say that the stranger’s arm had moved down to around his waist. Enjolras grabbed his drink.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Courfeyrac asked, his voice light.

 

“Not really,” Enjolras mumbled into his glass.

 

“Well, if you’re sure,” Courfeyrac trailed off, his own eyes fixed and glazed, looking in another direction. Enjolras already knew that he was staring at Combeferre, who was off talking to Joly about some scientific thing or other. He felt a tinge of compassion for Courfeyrac. Both of them here at this table together, watching the people they wanted but didn’t think they could have.

 

“He’s just so prickly,” Enjolras started, not even realizing that he was talking about it when he had said that he didn’t want to. He just wanted to wipe the sadness off of Courfeyrac’s face for a moment, and forget the stranger’s hand was slowly drifting down to Grantaire’s ass as he bought him another drink. “It’s so hard to be serious with him. Sometimes I just want to spend time with him without him feeling defensive or like he has to entertain me. I want to know him, but he doesn’t want to know me.”

 

Courfeyrac looked over at him. “Well, I think he feels that you won’t like the real him.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” Enjolras hissed, a pit of anger forming in his stomach. “Grantaire is amazing. He’s so talented and smart and caring. How could he think that?”

 

“Well, you have yelled at him a lot about getting his shit together,” Courfeyrac remarked drily. Enjolras was happy to note that his eyes were focused on his face, not on Combeferre.

 

“That was years ago. When we first met. I don’t do that anymore. I just worry about him. I mean we argue sometimes, but I don’t attack his character anymore. We just argue about ideas.”

 

Courfeyrac made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “It cast long shadows, Enjolras. Besides, Grantaire doesn’t recognize how amazing he is. You should know this by now. He has never been able to see himself in a really positive light.”

 

Enjolras’ gaze searched again for Grantaire, an ache in his chest. Grantaire was turned in the stranger’s arms and looking up into his face, a glow. “Let’s get more drinks.”

 

Courfeyrac looked at him, unsure. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’ve already had quite a few. I don’t think it’s the best idea.”

 

Enjolras dropped his glass on the table. Courfeyrac was right, the warm fuzzy feeling was spreading and he was having some issues forming coherent thoughts from one moment to the next. But it was helping him to forget about the way that Grantaire’s stranger had a triumphant and smug little grin on his face. “Do you want to talk about Combeferre?” he said, somewhat defiantly.

 

“Not at all. Excellent point. More drinks it is.” Enjolras stood and went with him to the bar to order more drinks. They ended up close to where Grantaire stood, and Enjolras found his feet taking him there. He leaned heavily against Grantaire’s barstool.

 

“Hi,” he said.

 

Grantaire looked up, surprised. A look of amusement flickered across his face, followed by one of worry.

 

“You okay, Enjolras? You’re drinking tonight?” Enjolras did not read into the concern that lay beneath Grantaire’s words or the incredibly adorable wrinkle that formed on his brow underneath curls that looked so soft to the touch.

 

Enjolras waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve taken Courfeyrac’s advice and tried to loosen up a little and live life. So far it is going well because Courfeyrac has bought all of my drinks.”

 

Grantaire laughed, and it was glorious. A free laugh, not one of his bitter laughs, one of real joy. Enjolras flushed. The stranger was looking between them a little confused. Enjolras reached out his hand. “I’m Enjolras. Good friend of R’s.”

 

He took Enjolras’ hand, somewhat hesitantly. “I’m Jean.”

 

“Pleasure,” Enjolras said, cursing him with all of his heart underneath his plastered smile. Up close, he was even more gorgeous than he had looked from afar - sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and stunningly white teeth.

 

Grantaire smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I meant to do that sooner.”

 

“It’s okay,” Jean said. “So, how do you know each other?”

 

Enjolras would rather dig his eyeballs out with a rusty spoon than make small talk with someone that Grantaire was going to fuck later. Luckily, he was saved by Courfeyrac who came with his drink and pulled him on to the dance floor while Enjolras smiled apologetically at Grantaire and Jean. Grantaire’s eyes widened as he saw Enjolras headed towards the dance floor, their eyes meeting for a heart-stopping second.

 

Enjolras did not dance often. He never really had gotten the hang of it. But the intoxicating mixture of alcohol and heartache were new to Enjolras, and he had no outlet to speak of, so he let Courfeyrac lead him to the dance floor. In all honesty, Enjolras enjoyed dancing, he just had a hard time getting past his own self-consciousness. The alcohol helped. He was enjoying himself, especially since he was dancing with Courfeyrac, who knew what he was doing and also didn’t expect Enjolras to go home with him at the end of the night. He found his hands on Courfeyrac’s waist, whose arms were winding around his neck as they lost themselves to the beat. He met Grantaire’s eyes across the room and saw the heat in his eyes, recognized an answer to his own longing. The moment passed quickly when Grantaire turned to Jean and led him to the dance floor deliberately. Enjolras must have imagined it.

 

Enjolras didn’t know how much time passed when eventually the other amis joined them on the dance floor, cheering at Enjolras’ capitulation to the dance floor. Soon however, he had to leave the dance floor for the bathroom, his dancing having reminded him that his bladder was dangerously full. He washed his hands in the bathroom, looking at his face in the mirror. His curls were frizzed from the heat of the establishment and his cheeks flushed with alcohol and excitement. He washed his face with cold water, needing to get himself under control. Alcohol was not the right outlet for his emotions. They only accentuated them. From now one, he could only be sober around Grantaire so he could keep his feelings on tight reins. Enjolras squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom.

 

In the hallway, he bumped into Grantaire, whose hair looked wild and whose blue eyes danced with an energy that Enjolras had only seen a few times before. He inadvertently took a step towards him. “You having fun with Jean?” Enjolras asked, trying to keep his tone even.

“I sent him home,” Grantaire said, eyes locked with Enjolras’. His chest felt tight and he couldn’t breathe as he tried to comprehend what Grantaire was saying.

 

“Why? Didn’t you like him?”

Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Enjolras out of the corner of his eyes. “I just wasn’t feeling it I guess.”

 

Enjolras nodded, swallowing and stepped aside to let Grantaire pass. He moved towards the dance floor, but stopped. He took a deep breath. He needed to say something before it killed him. “Grantaire,” he said. Grantaire turned on his heel, and Enjolras found himself pushing him against the wall. “Can I kiss you?” Their eyes locked and for one moment, Enjolras could hear nothing but his own heartbeat in his ears as he looked at Grantaire’s face, feeling himself on the edge of something precipitous.

 

Grantaire made no move to answer, just wound his hands in Enjolras’ hair and pulled his lips down to his. Enjolras closed his eyes as their lips met, his heart in his throat. Their lips touched tentatively, tenderly, before Grantaire swept into his mouth. Enjolras groaned and moved his hands down to Grantaire’s waist, where Jean’s arms had been earlier that night. One of Grantaire’s hands slid down Enjolras’ chest, leaving a trail of fire, and Enjolras broke apart to catch his breath and to kiss Grantaire’s neck. He could hear Grantaire’s small noises of encouragement, and he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Grantaire pulled his mouth back to his soft lips, like a man thirsty for water. Enjolras hands slipped down to his ass and Grantaire moaned “Enjolras.”

 

Enjolras forgot where he was and he didn’t know what would have happened next if from behind them Courfeyrac had cleared his throat overly loudly, making Enjolras think it may not have been the first time he had cleared it. They jumped apart, Grantaire immediately shoving his hands in his pockets, and Enjolras’ hands jumping to his hair. “What’s happening here?” Courfeyrac asked, his arms crossed, his stern demeanor only betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes. “Just asking about Grantaire’s date,” Enjolras’ said, his voice a little husky.

 

“Alright, well carry on.” Courfeyrac said, pushing past them to the bathroom.

 

Grantaire looked at him, and Enjolras felt his face flush. “I was really jealous of that guy. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

 

Grantaire stepped closer, and took his hands, his eyes boring intensely into Enjolras’. “You must know, it’s always been you.”

 

Enjolras felt a smile break out onto his face, mirrored by Grantaire’s equally blinding grin. “Thank god,” is all Enjolras said, before bending down to bring their lips together again. Their first came from jealousy, but their second one - that one sprung from joy.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a tumblr prompt! Come say hi on [tumblr](http://pucks-and-pies.tumblr.com) or on my [Les Mis blog](http://permets-tu-not-permettez-vous.tumblr.com).


End file.
